


How To Solve A Nightmare

by Tindomerelhloni



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Feels, Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 13:36:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3383534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tindomerelhloni/pseuds/Tindomerelhloni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two years since Sherlock's death, and John still spends most nights sleepless due to nightmares. On this particular night he decided to leave his flat, and go back to Baker Street for the first time in nearly a year and a half. </p><p>Upon arriving he took off his coat, Sherlock's old coat really, (Lestrade had let him have it from evidence) and walked into Sherlock's old room. He crawled into Sherlock's bed, wrapped the coat around him and fell into a fitful sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How To Solve A Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize to everyone for my inactivity. I've been working two jobs and haven't had time to write.

* * *

 

 

"Hit the deck!" The cry was frantic. "Watson! Hit the de-deck!" There was a loud explosion, a searing pain and an endless ring. John looked around, his friends and comrades where strewn about like dolls. Some alive and others not so fortunate.

"John!" Soft hands gripped his shoulders causing him to cry out in pain - he could only assume he had been shot in the shoulder.

"John!" There it was again. That voice. But something wasn't right. No one here called him John. He was either Watson, or Doctor Watson.

He tried to take a breath but nearly choked on a mouthful of blood.

"John, you're bleeding." The voice was piercing and urgent.

"Captain, soldier. Know your place." This person had better show him some respect. When his commanding officer found out that this man was not properly addressing a captain.... The taste of blood was sickening, John felt like he might lose the contents of his stomach.

"John... It's Sherlock." The voice was soft now and the hands slid under his head and back, helping him into a sitting position.

"Here. Let me see. Mmmm you bit your tongue pretty bad. Another war dream was it?"

"Sherlock?" The name seemed familiar. But the pain in his shoulder and the taste of blood was keeping him from thinking clearly.

"Yes, John. I'm here. You're ok. You're in Baker Street. You've had a nightmare. And I dare say you've woken Mrs. Hudson. I can hear her making tea."

At the mention of tea John's head became clearer and he was looking into the worried eyes of his flatmate. "Sh-Sherlock." He quickly brought a hand to his mouth to stop the trickle of blood.

"Let me get a cloth and clean that up, John."

"Sherlock... There was a bomb. And the bodies. Oh god the bodies."

Sherlock paused halfway into the bathroom and turned to look at John. Clearly the fact that he was here hadn't sunk in yet. He hurried into the bathroom and came out a moment later with a warm cloth and a glass of water.

He sat on the edge of his bed and looked at John. He looked tired, worn, his face lacked any hint of happiness. Is this how the past two years had been for John? Full of sleepless nights, nightmares, pain? He had been fine, of course. He had busied himself in destroying Moriarty's network. The first month or so had been tough, but the thought of getting back to John brought him through the darkest days.

Sherlock leaned close to John and dabbed the cloth on the corner of John's mouth.

"There now. Don't want blood in your mustache now, do you?" Sherlock gave a small smile and John shook his head, still disoriented.

"You'd better not have gotten blood on my coat, John." Sherlock gave a slight chuckle and nodded to his old coat that John was holding in a death grip.

"No... Of course not." John looked at the coat as if it were some far off object then gave a big sigh. "Here I am talking to you, as if you're really here, and you're worried about your bloody coat."

"I am here, John." Sherlock was shocked. John thought he was imagining him? That explained why John wasn't reacting to him being here.

"That's what you always say..." John took the water from Sherlock's hand and took a long sip before placing it on the nightstand.

"Do I? What else do I 'always say'?"

"That you're not dead. That I'll see you again." John looked Sherlock in the eye as a tear slipped down his cheek. "That you miss me... But I know it can't be true. Sherlock Holmes doesn't miss people. He doesn't even like people. He left me, so why would he miss me?"

"Oh, John." Sherlock put the cloth down and swung his legs up onto the bed and under the covers next to John. "You're right. I don't like people. But I do like you, and I did miss you." He wrapped an arm around John's shoulder and pulled him close.

The bedroom door creaked open and Mrs. Hudson stepped into the room in her dressing gown carrying a tray of tea. "Youhoo..." She stopped short and nearly dropped the tray as a shriek filled the flat as her eyes fell on Sherlock.

John sat up straight and looked from Mrs. Hudson to Sherlock and back to Mrs. Hudson.

"Y... You can see him." It started off as a whisper but grew in pitch until it was nearly a squeak.

"Sherlock? Of course I can bloody see him!" Mrs. Hudson put the tray down and wiped a tear from her eyes.

"You've been here? All this time?" John looked at Sherlock in disbelief.

"Of course. Do you think the water fetched itself."

"Oh! Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson clapped her hands together. "We'll be needing more tea!"  
She spun on her heels and took off to make more tea.

"Sher-"

"John. Let me explain."

"Two years, Sherlock! Two years!" John's shock had now turned to anger.

"John..."

"No! Don't 'John' me. Not this time! Where were you for two bloody years? Off with that woman?" John was now standing and pacing about the room, Sherlock's coat still in his hands.

"What? No. Well... Not the whole time. She helped me disband part of Moriarty's network. But that doesn't matter now. John, all that matters is that I'm here. I'm back.. I'm not dead."

John stopped pacing and looked at Sherlock, who was now awkwardly half sitting half kneeling on the bed.

"Sherlock. Do you know how angry I am at you right now? I have half a mind to storm out and go home! I'm so angry I could..." He paused moment, trying to figure out what he 'could' before continuing his pacing.

"So angry you could kiss me?" Sherlock was now kneeling on the middle of the bed, looking up at John.

"So angry that I could kiss you!" John shouted this as if it were the worst threat he could come up with. He stopped short and snapped his head to look at Sherlock when he finally realized what he had just shouted. Sherlock had a grin splitting his face in two as John blushed every variation of red.

John flung himself at Sherlock, knocking them both back. Sherlock thought for sure that John was going to punch him, and he cried out in surprise as John's mustache scratched against his upper lip. He ignored the mustache and gave into the kiss, reveling in now soft John's lips were compared to his mustache.

Mrs. Hudson chose that moment to walk back into the room. The boys never knew if her squeals as she left their flat were those of approval or disproval. Nor did they care. After all that time together, and the two years apart all that mattered was that moment, that kiss. It said everything they had wanted to say since the moment John offered his phone to Sherlock at St. Bart's.

"Jo-hn..." Sherlock gasped for air.

"What now, Sherlock?" John rolled his eyes but smiled for the first time.

Sherlock paused for a moment, rubbing his upper lip where John's mustache had been rubbing against his skin. "Were all of your nights like that? Full of nightmares?"

"Most. Yes."

"All of them about war?"

"No, Sherlock. Most weren't." John's voice trailed off and became somber again.

"I figured as much. I'm truly sorry, John. Please forgive me."

"I will. On one condition." John looked Sherlock square in the eyes and lowered his voice as he climbed back into bed. "Keep me company tonight and fend off my nightmares for me."

"Only if you promise to shave off that blasted mustache. I can't be seen in public with you like that, John." Sherlock climbed back under the covers and opened his arms to John.

"I don't shave for Sherlock Holmes." John chuckled as he placed his head on Sherlock's chest. The sound of his heartbeat nearly making him cry.

"We'll see about that in the morning. Sleep well, my John." Sherlock kissed the top of John's head and wrapped his arms around him in a protective embrace.

There was a soft thud as Sherlock's coat gently slipped from the bed onto the floor.


End file.
